


The Ritual

by Kneepheo



Category: No. 6 - All Media Types
Genre: Feels, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Reunion, angst? angst, gentle touching, slightly sad VERY emotional, theyre at peace, very slightest dubcon greeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:24:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6796597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kneepheo/pseuds/Kneepheo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ritual: A sporadic yearly reunion in which underneath the kisses, tea, and books, they both do their best to memorize each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ritual

A glance outside the window tells Shion it’s that time of night when the wind grows still and the world seems to pass through a moment of perfect quiet. It’s untethering, otherworldly, but Shion loves the feeling as much as he loves the raw power of the closeness he feels with nature in the midst of a typhoon.

The room is much too large, and moonlight through the wide window illuminates nothing more than a desk, some chairs, and a sparse bookshelf.

Shion takes a pause from the work he’s doing and instead leans backwards in his chair, relaxing from the hunched posture he held for hours. He closes his eyes and lets the quiet soak into him, as he does every night he surfaces from his work. 

He’s so lost in thought that he takes a second longer than it should have to notice the physical sensation of a hand at his throat and the cold sliver of steel nestle against his thumping jugular.

The hand tightens and he’s pinned to the chair. All that otherworldliness crashes down on him, and suddenly he’s _awake._ His eyes widen and the breath he tries to suck in but can’t causes his mind to sharpen to painful clarity. Sounds become impossibly loud and the rush of adrenaline through his veins ground him to this poor, tragic world the way that no amount of passionate working for the new state can.

A tickle of hair brushes his cheek and he’s staring into liquid moonlight, black diamonds, pools of silver. He’s still unable to move lest the knife sink into his throat, and he barely manages to keep a shiver from thrumming down his spine when those eyes narrow in a smirk and a gentle too-loud whisper directly into his ear raise the delicate hairs of his nape as well as the heat in his gut.

“Poor Mr. Ambassador, all alone and defenseless.”

Shion considers tipping his chair backwards or jerking his still free hands up to strike the intruder under the chin, but he finds a small pleased smile come to his face instead.

The eyes narrow. The hand squeezing his neck tightens to the point of pain and Shion’s eyes slip shut in response. The knife is taken away, but the hand returns, circling around his front to slowly undo the line of buttons.

The slow deliberate way his chest becomes bared to the slightly chilly air causes Shion to shiver again.

“You never did know when to be scared.”

The hand proceeds to lightly graze his skin, tracing the winding pink scar around his body. Shion feels as though his head might explode from the way the blood thumps in his veins. A single nip at his nipple causes arousal to shoot through him nearly to the point of delirium, and he jerks. The man at his back sighs, and finally loosens his grip on Shion’s neck, right as black spots were about to make an appearance.

“Geez, Shion. It wouldn’t hurt you to fight back one of these days rather than just examine my technique.” He says disapprovingly. “That way, I’ll know that you can at least take care of yourself when _real assassins_ come for you.”

But Shion is barely listening, laughing freely even as he drags in large gulps of air, tears at the corners of his eyes, looking to all the world like a child just finished with the world’s most thrilling rollercoaster.

He turns around in his chair and drinks in the ever-beautiful sight of Nezumi; all slender shadows and silver eyes.

Fondness creeps up in his heart, and it hurts _so bad_ but Shion just beams. “I missed you, Nezumi.”

His heart hurts all the more when he sees that returning shy smile. “I missed you too.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a Ritual now, and while Nezumi clears the desk of all the papers and laptops, Shion disappears into a neighboring room to prepare the tea. This is solid, familiar, as comforting as childhood hugs.

When Shion returns with a tray, the table is empty and Nezumi is sitting at one of the chairs, casting a critical eye in the direction of Shion’s bookshelf.

“Really? The _one_ book you’ve added since I’ve been here last is X?”

Shion smiles ruefully. “I haven’t had much-”

“Time. I know, I know. You’re busy saving the world. Nothing changes.” The slight teasing note he had in his voice from before was gone, and in its place is a sort of grim resignation. The acceptance of tragedy that is inevitable and unavoidable.

Nezumi reaches out and plucks a teacup off the tray, hands curling around it for warmth.

“I was going to say that I haven’t had much luck obtaining new books.” Shion says, raising a knowing eyebrow at Nezumi. “Not to mention the _last assassin_ made off with a few rare books I haven’t finished yet.”

Nezumi just gives him a smug grin at that, and pats the pack he has slung over his chair.

“Well your majesty will be pleased to note that I have returned them, in better quality than before.”

Shion settles back into his chair and takes the cup of tea. He brings it under his nose and takes a deep breath. This is also part of The Ritual. Systematically remembering this overflowing feeling of comfort and Nezumi, and attaching it to the gentle smell of soothing black tea. He only ever brings out this type of tea when Nezumi is here or when he misses him so much he fears his heart will just stop beating out of despair. He could go weeks or even months without thinking of Nezumi, but without fail, he always returns to mind. Just brewing it when he feels _alone_ and _cold_ is enough to spring tears to his eyes, but also to fill his heart and hands with warmth.

Shion doubts that Nezumi knows this part of The Ritual. After all, for all he knew, Shion only drank this kind of tea.

Once his feelings of this moment and the smell of tea are filed away like treasure folded into silk, he turns his full attention to Nezumi.

“How are your travels? It’s been two years. That’s rather on the longer side isn’t it?” He tries not to let censure creep into his tone, but he knows Nezumi will hear it anyway. This is life, and they had both understood that this was simply the way it has to be.

“The mountains were beautiful, the people interesting.” Nezumi responds vaguely, and Shion feels that familiar frustration. He wants to know everything about Nezumi, but Nezumi will only ever share verbally during critical moments of life and death. Instead Shion must use all the powers of perception to get a sense of Nezumi.

Even now, the Rat still found it hard to show his inner self. That said, Shion was thankful for his natural intellect, because as it stood, even with the lack of communication from Nezumi, Shion knows Nezumi far better than anyone else on this planet. He thinks it’s why Nezumi comes back at all. Otherwise, Shion had little doubt the wanderer would throw himself into the wind like a dandelion seed, uncaring of the destination.

“That reminds me. I have a gift for you.” The tone of voice is teasing and royal, as if Shion should grovel with appreciation at his feet for his gracious regard.

This was also Ritual. Small tokens from Nezumi from his travels that Shion would spend hours examining. Sometimes with confusion, but mostly with earnest imagination of how the token and Nezumi met. Shion always felt that the small gifts were imbued with a subtle sense of apology and adoration.

A slight rustle, and a tan strip was pushed across the table, a little plush ribbon trailing it.

Curious, Shion reaches out and flips the rectangular strip over. There, between a layer of clear, smooth gel and the dotted pulp of papyrus paper, lay a single exquisite pressed flower.

Shion looked up with a wry grin. “I would have expected you to use a Shion flower for this bookmark.”

“Overdone and cliché.” Nezumi declares with a wave of his hand, and they’re both thinking of Safu and the purple sweater they both knew so well. 

His smile, as it always does, loses its sharpness after a bit. “This mountainflower suits you much better.”

Shion looks at the snowy white petals and scar pink markings and thinks that yes, this suits him better: the man he had transformed into rather than the man he had been born to be. There are days he struggles with reconciling the two parts of him, and again, he remembers that Nezumi knows that self-conscious part of him far too well.

“Thank you.” He says, “It’s so beautiful.”

“Of course it is.” Nezumi says, locking eyes with Shion, and Shion feels his heart fight between love and sorrow.

“We’re 29 now.” Shion says. “Another year until we hit 30. Can you make it back?” There’s a lot of subtext to that question, and Shion wonders how Nezumi will handle it.

“I never make promises I don’t know if I can keep.” He says flatly.

Shion just feels his heart tighten.

Nezumi sighs. “Shion.” He gathers Shion’s face in his hands and leans forward. “I’m a wanderer who cares too little. You’re a citizen who needs purpose. Needs to help humanity.”

“I know that.” Shion says, lightly batting away Nezumi’s hands and keeping his voice 100% steady. “But you’re a wanderer who makes it his habit to visit me every year or so. Can’t you make the next visit a little more… sure?”

This is a variation of The Ritual. Every year, one of them (usually Shion) starts a small testing of the status quo that goes nowhere. Nezumi has tried on many occasions to get Shion to take a “vacation” with him, but they both know that Shion’s work is time-sensitive and urgent.

The pause tells Shion everything he needs to know. He sighs. “Never mind.” He says, and starts heading to the kitchen. “I’ll get some cherry cake.” No voice or body follows in the kitchen, and when he comes back, they eat in silence and talk all night. It’s bliss that ends too soon. 

Dawn is soon peeking through the far off mountains and spilling into the room. Nezumi rises from the table, puts on his coat, and slides up to Shion.

A hand lightly brushes Shion’s cheek before firmly drawing him close. Shion holds on tight, squeezes his eyes shut, and just tries to remember this feeling. Then, Nezumi gently pries him loose, slowly adjusts the tilt of Shion’s chin until he’s looking at him, and meaningfully presses a precious, chaste kiss to Shion’s lips.

“Are all our kisses doomed to be farewell kisses?” Shion whispers. 

And as per The Ritual, there is no response as Nezumi turns his back and disappears into the sunlight.

 

* * *

 

Shion is on autopilot as he shelves the familiar books back onto his bookshelf. He smiles as he realizes that X is missing. He opens his one of his reclaimed reads and slowly drops the flower bookmark into place. Taking a minute to trace the outline of the petals, he imagines Nezumi stumbling upon a lovely meadow of wildflowers deep in the heart of the mountains. Imagines him thinking of Shion and carefully treading through the meadow, searching for the perfect specimen to bring home.

_Home._

Imagines Nezumi smiling as he finds the perfect flower. Imagines him heading back to the tavern in the small village. Imagines him flashing his perfect smile at the local village girl. Imagines him paying her to press the flower and fashion it into a bookmark.

He closes he book with a sigh and leaves it on his bookshelf before he heads back to his desk. He pulls out his work, but doesn’t start on it yet, staring at the diplomatic treaty outline that would strengthen economic ties between the once-No. 6 and the current No. 5.

With reluctance, he smiles.

It may not be perfect, but in this world, what is? So he and Nezumi can never live together or have the typical idyllic life, but isn’t what they have enough? They both have their dreams, and they both have their love. The tragedy is that these things are incompatible. To give up their dreams would be to become a person other than the one the other fell in love with. No, it was impossible to give up either Nezumi’s wanderlust or desire for freedom or Shion’s attempts at saving the world.

So instead, Shion would just treasure these small moments and the scent of his tea.

It is enough that Nezumi returns to Shion. That though they can never say it, love each other in all the right ways there is to love a person.

It is a good life. Shion closes his eyes and makes his peace with the world.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I might do this from Nezumi's POV and all the ritual things he does (takes Shion's book, the fake assassination to feel up Shion, etc). 
> 
> IDK anyway, this was just to get out my roiling feels for these two guys. :3 They're kind of tragic, but its the RIGHT kind of tragic that doesn't make me feel cheated of a good ending. The right kind of angst for me.


End file.
